


First Day of My Life: Share the Shelter

by Ride4812



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29229423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride4812/pseuds/Ride4812
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Kudos: 28





	First Day of My Life: Share the Shelter

In Chicago a half mile walk over cracked pavement would get them to the Kash and Grab. In  
Puerto Peñasco a half mile over tufted sand led them to Jorge’s Cantina, their go to spot for nights  
when Mickey didn’t have to work and Svetlana stayed home with Yevgeny.

Jorge’s was part dive bar, part the best fucking food they’d ever had in their lives, and all right on  
the beach.

"Fucking starving, man," Mickey told Ian as they sat down at a small wooden table a stones throw  
away from the ocean. The breaks were shimmering silver under the soft glow of the moon and  
colorful Mexican stars hung from wires strung to adjacent palm trees casting their faces with a dim  
amber light.

"Did you get a chance to grab lunch today?" Ian asked, opening his menu. When his boyfriend  
didn't reply he looked up at him with narrowed eyes, "You gotta make time to eat. You won't miss  
'em all if you grab a burrito."

"I know, alright. Don't give me shit until after I eat some fucking chips," Mickey groused, "Gotta  
have something in my stomach to listen to you bitch.

Ian just rolled his eyes and sighed, "You know if you'd let me pack you something this wouldn't  
be an issue."

"It ain't an issue. You're making it a problem," He stated glad when he saw the waiter  
approaching. "Hola," Mickey greeted, closing his menu to indicate that they were ready to order.

"Buenas noches, que puedo ofrecerles (Good evening, what can I get for you guys)?" The man in  
a tank top and board shorts asked.

"Empezaremos con chips y salsa. Para mi tomatilla asada y serrano y puede traer su salsa de pina a  
esta panocha (We’ll start with the chips and salsa. Can I get the roasted tomatilla and serrano and  
can you bring your pineapple salsa for this pussy)?," Mickey replied with a shit eating grin pulling  
up his lips.

Ian gave him the finger in response and the waiter chuckled lightly, "No te gusta comida picante  
(You don't like spicy food)? " He asked Ian, who shook his head 'no.' "Por sus comidas (For your  
meals)?"

"Carne adovada (pork marinated in red chile)," Mickey replied.

"Arroz con camarones, por favor (shrimp and rice, please)."

The waiter nodded, "Que les gustaria beber (what would you like to drink)?"

"Tequila," Mickey said, "Dos."

"Si," The waiter looked to Ian.

"Horchata," He said handing him their menus. He nodded and headed back into open air, shack of  
a restaurant a feet away.

"You almost busted a vein in your forehead and shit yourself the last time you tried to be a badass  
and eat a serrano," Ian reminded Mickey.

"It was raw. The salsa's roasted and shit-it's different."

"Hmm," Ian hummed giving him a knowing grin. He watched as the flickering of the candle on  
their table danced across Mickey's face, "I missed you."

"Pretty fucking gay, Gallagher," Mickey chided without malice, "It's been like 15 hours."

"We're pretty fucking gay," Ian reminded him, "and you counting?"

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey said with a smirk that turned into a soft laugh and a shake of his head.

He reached across the table to squeeze Ian's hand, letting go of it when the waiter dropped off  
their drinks and appetizers, "Gracias."

Ian kicked off his sandals and dug his toes into the warm sand. The sensation that had once felt so  
foreign and novel was slowly becoming his norm, but he vowed never to forget cold booted feet  
shuffling through dirt tinged slush. He never wanted to take anything in his life for granted again,  
especially not the man sitting across from him.

"What?" Mickey asked, scrunching down his eyebrows, noticing the moony look in Ian's eyes as  
he stared at him.

"I love you," Ian stated, leaning across the table so he could kiss full lips sweetly.

"Love you, too," The brunet informed him, brushing his lips against Ian's before settling back in  
his chair. He turned his head so he could watch a man with waist length dreadlocks set up a  
microphone and drape a guitar strap over his shoulders. He carefully strummed the opening chords  
of "Is This Love" and sang the familiar Bob Marley song as Ian and Mickey ate their meal. Ian  
watched Mickey's glassy eyes lock in on a couple dancing barefoot on the sand, bodies swaying  
to the tunes, mouths connected. The brunet's cheeks were tinged pink from the mind tilt of his  
tequila and his lips were puffy from his spicy dinner. Ian relished in the moments where Mickey  
looked so happy, content, and free. They were no longer few and far between. Slowly, fulfilled  
and loved was becoming their new normal.

"Ever think back in the day, this is where we'd be?" Ian mused, his reverie interrupted by the  
waiter coming back to tell them about dessert.

"Jorge hizo capirotada esta noche. Es popular aque durante cuaresma. Es un pudding de pan con  
capas de nuez, cheese, fruta seca, canela infusión de jarabe de azúcar," He rambled off quickly,  
causing both men to look at him completely lost.

"Lo puedes decir en ingles?" Ian asked sheepishly.

The waiter gave him a cautious nod, "Um. Not very good," He paused searching for words,

"Jorge makes Capirotada. It is liked very much during lent. It's a pudding with nuts, cheese,  
prunes and raisins. It has sugar and cinnamon on it."

"Sounds good, right?" He grinned at Mickey.

"Not really," He replied at the same time that Ian was telling the waiter that they'd try it, "Fucking  
prunes," He scoffed, "We fucking geriatric?"

"I do want to grow old with you," Ian teased, "We could start now."

"Sounds gross," The brunet complained.

"Growing old with me or the Capirotada?" Ian asked with a smirk.

"The dessert," Mickey said with a grin turning away from Ian so he could watch the tide lap at the  
dry sand, pulling it into the belly of the sea so it could push up and start again, "Uno mad, por  
favor," He gestured to his glass as the waiter dropped off their debated dessert.

"Mmmm," Ian groaned, dramatically rolling his head back in pleasure as he took of forkful of  
Capirotada into his mouth, "Mmmm shit that's good."

"Making the same noises you make while you're fuckin' me," Mickey pointed out, watching Ian  
skeptically as he continued his show.

"So fucking good, Mick," Ian moaned, "So good."

"Fuck off," Mickey laughed, grabbing his fork and preparing himself to take a bite. He shoved the  
sticky sweet confection into his mouth and licked lips, "It's pretty fucking good."

"Told you."

After finishing their meal they embarked on the short walk back to their house. The lights of  
Jorge's and sounds of its patrons faded as they trekked along quiet stretches of beach. Mickey was  
about to reach for a cigarette when Ian grabbed his wrist and pulled his body flank to him.

Wordlessly he slotted his mouth against Mickey's, the caramel and bitter notes of the tequila he'd  
consumed permeating Ian's lips. They deepened the kiss, hands reaching up to cheeks, tongues  
tangling, hearts racing. It was heady and intense, an intoxicating mix of want and need.

The gentle swooshing of the Sea of Cortez undulated beside them as their emotions swelled,

"Marry me," Ian exhaled against Mickey's lips, his desperation for forever crashing around him.

"Fuck off," Mickey sighed, holding his cheeks tighter, kissing him harder.

"I'm serious," Ian stated, pulling back so he could lock into Mickey's ocean blue eyes, his hands  
cradled around the nape of his neck, lungs breathless, "Marry me."

Without a word, Mickey shoved the redhead away, hands flat on his chest.

"Marry me, Mickey," He braced himself for another push, looping his arm around Mickey's waist  
as quick as it came so he could drag him down to the sand with him. The rolled around, each man  
trying to establish dominance. Ian gave up letting Mickey slam him against the ground.

The brunet panted as hovered over him, eyes wild with confusion and elation, "What'd you say?"

"Marry me," Ian repeated for the fourth time, the request sounding more like a demand, "I love..."

His statement was cut short by Mickey kissing him vehemently, his words not tumbling out as  
easily as his answer did. The cool sea breeze tickled their skin as they held each other closer, a  
passionate form to mold in.

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna wear a fucking dress or anything," Mickey muttered, once their lips  
were raw and their hearts were full. The same statement he'd made years in the past that left  
behind any bitterness and reflected only the sweetness of their future.

"Nobody fucking asked you to," Ian smirked against his lover's lips, sliding his hand up Mickey's  
shorts so he could grasp his muscular thigh. He swallowed the laughter that fell easily from  
Mickey's mouth, sure that their happiness could sustain them.


End file.
